


To Live With The Prince

by MysticalMistress (BridgeToTheSky)



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Domestic Fluff, Domestic!Snape, Eventual Smut, F/M, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, Mild Sexual Content, Romance, horrible angst, slowburn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-05
Updated: 2017-05-24
Packaged: 2018-05-12 01:27:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 11,175
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5648749
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BridgeToTheSky/pseuds/MysticalMistress
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Because, through living with you, I now know what it is like to live with a prince ..."</p><p>~</p><p>Some chapters will contain AUs in which Snape lived the Second WW, some where they follow canon, and etc ...Enjoy~</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. As You Were

“So, would you like me to do it?”

 

Severus Snape looked up from his desk, turning his head to where you sat across from him. Your face was teased with a smile, your eyes darting across an article in the Daily Prophet that you were obviously only pretending to be remotely interested in.

 

Severus raised an eyebrow. What was he missing. Had he zoned out again? “Do … it?”

 

“Your epic biography, of course,” You elaborated, folding the newspaper in your lap and facing him. “Because of course there _will_ be one, Sev. Whether we survive this or not, and I was hoping I’d be the one to tell your story.”

 

“And why on Earth would you want to do that?”

 

“Because you’re remarkable, Sev,” You replied, standing. You made your way over to him, and gave him a soft bop on the nose, and his expression changed to something of indignation and guarded affection. “And plus, if you don’t leave it to _me_ , by default you’ll be leaving the responsibility of your biography to _Rita Skeeter_ , and I really don’t think —”

 

“Fine,” he said, and you knew him well enough to know that he was fighting a small smile. “If those are indeed my options, I will go with you.”

 

“Just think about it,” You went on, resting your head on his shoulder. “The heroic tale of Severus Snape, the courageous, sly double agent battling the odds stacked against him, all while being _devilishly_ handsome.”

 

“Courageous … devilishly handsome,” Severus repeated, clearly mulling over the words in his head with a slight smirk. “That’s nice … but who would possibly believe your depiction of me? Certainly not those who knew me.”

 

“They’ll have to deal with me,” You said with finality, snuggling into him tighter.

 

Severus seemed satisfied with that answer, and he grasped your hand. You purred into his neck, feeling the strands of his onyx hair brush against your nose when —

 

“Don’t do it.”

 

“What?” You said, lifting your head.

 

You could see his expression now; solemn, his eyes looking off into a distance.

 

“ _Lie_ ,” Severus clarified. “If you are serious about this, don’t lie. Paint me as I _am_ , (Y/n). It is the only way.”

 

And long after you had had that conversation with him, you still didn’t pretend to know why he had told you to be authentic. After you stood over his grave, planting it with flowers, cleaning off the dust and debris, for you were his only visitor these days, you knew what you had do to.

 

_Of course, Sev. As you were. I promise._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> God, Snape is so hard for me. I understand but writing him makes me so self-conscious. He's the kind of character that, if you get wrong, even for a second, EVERYONE will notice. Jeez. Why'd I take this on ...?
> 
> I hope you enjoyed it~ Of course, if there were ever a bio of Snape, his lovely almost-wife would do it. Of course.


	2. Order of Merlins and Parental Feelings

CRASH. 

 

“(Y/n)! GET IN HERE _NOW!_ ”

 

You scrambled, having in mind what had gone wrong —

 

You forced the door to Severus’s study open, and saw for yourself that you had been correct: 

 

Flying in a circle over the ceiling was an owl, twittering away excitedly. From below, remnants of a vase lay across the floor, mingling with the wood and the hearth rug. 

 

“Oh, Sev, I’m sorry, here —” You moved immediately, holding your hands out. “Oh, come here, you silly bird. Stop bothering Sevvy.”

 

The owl flew into your arms immediately, still twittering up a storm, almost as if it wanted to go on and on like a proud child all about its accomplishments.

 

Severus was massaging his temples. “How many times have I told you to keep that _bastardy_ owl away from my office.” 

 

“It’s not my fault, Sev!” You complained, holding the owl — your precious Flutters — close to your chest, where it snuggled you with its wings. “He gets out! He’s too clever for his own good.

 

Severus sighed, then a glare at Flutters. Long was his suffering patience for  _ you _ _,_ with your love for all things Muggle like televisions and — Merlin, whatever those things were you plugged in your ears when you wanted to listen to music and not disturb him. Did they have those when he was a teenager? … Yes. But they were bigger and even more annoying at the time. 

 

But the bird … it was after him. Severus knew this for a fact. No, it was not _paranoia._ He was not paranoid. Constant war and suffering had not made him paranoid to attack. No. It was the BIRD. 

 

He could almost see it now, in your arms, giving him a look of mischievous achievement. His poor vase …

 

“Flutters is sorry, Sev,” You said, holding the feathery fiend up for him to see. “He didn’t mean to hurt your things. It’s just — well, he wanted to prove to daddy that he could —” 

 

“ _Daddy?_ ” Severus repeated in horror. He narrowed his eyes. “No, (Y/n), I think not. I don’t care what relationship you share with that …  _ thing _ . But it does not stretch to me. I will not be a parental figure to your menace.”

 

“He likes to show off!” You tried to reason. 

 

Severus stood then, brandishing his wand and directing it at the pathetic broken vase, before murmuring the words, “ _Reparo,_ ” and seeing the vase restore itself. Almost as though moving in reverse, the pieces of the vase collected themselves and fit back together, finding itself back on one of Severus’s shelves. 

 

“Now,” he began, putting his wand away. “Put that thing back in its cage —” 

 

“Stop calling it a _thing,_ ” You argued. “He’s not a lobster.” 

 

“Indeed.” 

 

“He loves you, Sev,” You said softly, and when you looked down at Flutters, you did a double-take. “Ah! Look!” 

 

You untied something from the owl’s leg, and held it up to Severus with a victorious grin.

 

“See! And look, it’s even addressed to you. Read it, grumpy.” 

 

You thrust the envelope in Severus’s face, and before he could even begin to chastise you, he saw that you were right; it was addressed to him. 

 

Who would be sending him things? 

 

He took the envelope from you, and heard you leave the room as he tore the letter open. It was adorned with a neat green ribbon — green. Did that mean … of course it couldn’t … 

 

Could it? 

 

With more excitement, Severus tore the letter away from the envelope, unfolded it, and began to read. 

 

_ “ To Severus Tobias Snape,  _

 

_ We, of the Wizenmagot, are proud and honored to present with this letter, and to tell you that on the 3rd of September, you will be rewarded with Order of Merlin, First Class, for your work that assisted and assured the fall of Lord Voldemort and services to the Wizarding World at large. _

 

_ We look forward to offering you this honor. Have a pleasant day.” _

 

You were back. Severus turned to see your hands on your magnificent hips.

 

You wore a smirk at his unbridled expression of surprise. “So? What was it?”

 

He handed the letter to you and you read, seconds later meeting his shocked gaze with one of your own. 

 

“Sev —” 

 

“Bring that bird back in immediately,” Severus said, apparently in a euphoric daze. “Do you hear me, woman? Right now. I must … I must _thank_ him — we, **_we_ ** must prepare. There will need to be new robes, (Y/n). We will leave for Diagon Alley immediately. Get your things. _Now._ I am _serious,_ (Y/n), I —”

 

Your shock gave way to a snort, and during Severus’s rant you retired to do as you were ordered. And as you went for your purse and Flutters, you tried to keep in mind not to take advantage of Severus’s mood, for you were sure there was not a single in the world he would not give you in the coming hours.


	3. Muggle Film Entertainment

Speaking of which, you will never truly remember what you did to convince Severus to let you move a television in the living room, and you will definitely not remember what you did to convince him of another television for the bedroom. But you were sure it had something to do with a show of milky legs and some of your most charming womanly smiles. 

 

But you were positive that it was not all your doing, for you would soon find out that there was something Severus did enjoy about muggle film entertainment. 

 

“ _Casablanca?_ ” You said in a splutter, and Severus let you splutter away as the two classic lovers across a black and white backdrop. “And what else — is this ... is this _Titanic_ in the DVR —” 

 

“(Y/n), I swear if you continue to interrupt, you will be banished from the bedroom. _Quiet._ ” 

 

“I’m sorry, Sev, but I’m a little _surprised,_ ” You said with a mad laugh. “Severus Snape. Dry, cynical, **grumpy** —” 

 

“You will get no further warnings, (Y/n)!” 

 

“Oh, oh,” You said, ignoring him entirely. “Is this …” 

 

Severus rolled his eyes, preparing for you to say it. 

 

“ _ Swing Time? _ ”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sev must be stopped. That's all I'll say.


	4. A Bitter Gentleman

He didn’t know why your sobs swayed him; Severus Snape gathered that, if it hadn’t been you, they wouldn’t have. 

 

But you were such a tiny, _sulking_ thing. Shrunken in a chair in his office, with your hands shielded away by your hands, and he knew why. 

 

It wasn’t just the tears that you were tending to. 

 

No, it was your bruised eye. 

 

“Would you like me to treat you?” Severus said, hoping it did not sound too affectionate. “I assume that is why you have come?” 

 

Severus was, or had been, completely indifferent to your lover, as he was toward most, but now he could not think of him without acquiring a bad taste in his mouth, especially when you raised your head and he had to fight a grimace when allowed a true glance of your swelled eye. 

 

You murmured a yes, an admission that was obviously a struggle, and Severus swept away to find his wand. 

 

He did not like how you made him feel; open, sympathetic,  _ willing _ . Willing to what? He didn’t know. He didn’t  _ want _ to know. 

 

He knelt beside you seconds later, intentionally staring down your cheek as to not look into your eye(s), and murmured the incantation. 

 

“Snape —” 

 

“I am trying to focus. Keep your silence for now.” 

 

You whispered an apology and stayed silent. Your breathing became easier, and Severus knew it to mean that your pain was dissipating. 

 

When it was done, he lowered his wand and said, “The pain will dwindle over the next hour or so, but other than that, you will be fine.” 

 

You looked over his face. Severus recognized the attempt at intimacy and returned to his feet immediately. 

 

“Snape …” 

 

Severus stifled a sigh, his back to you. “Yes, (Y/n)?” he answered restlessly. 

 

“Is …” 

 

Severus could feel the words mill over in your mind before you found the strength to say them aloud. 

 

“Is the world just … cold?” 

 

… 

 

Oh _Merlin_. 

 

What made you think he had any answers to your questions? Did he look like he could offer any solace, any  _ advice _ ? What had he made of his own life? Why hadn’t you sought out Albus for this sort of thing? 

 

Still, Severus turned back to you; your expression was one of a person deep in thought. And upon observing you himself, it was the incentive he needed to, at least, _try_ and … and comfort you. 

 

He couldn’t believe he was even giving it a go. 

 

Severus took a breath. “The world is indifferent, (Y/n).”

 

Ah, yes. A total and complete success.

 

You looked up at him, ghostly reminiscence of your swelling circling around your right eye. “Can’t it throw us a bone every once in a while? Just … just _once_?” 

 

Another breath from Severus, and the words came before he could stop them or consider what he was doing. “Would you like to stay here tonight?”

 

Your focus was on him again. In a state of shock; how could he even suggest a thing? “T … Thank you, Severus. That is … incredibly nice of you.” 

 

_Surprisingly_ nice, is what you meant to say, and Severus knew it. 

 

It was a moment of weakness, of impulse — how could he have allowed himself both in the same breath? 

 

Why did he _care_?

 

He didn’t inquiry himself; he feared for what the answer would be. 

 

But he could not … _leave_ you there, to wallow in the phantom pain of your eye and the end of your relationship. 

 

Especially when he knew what the latter was like.

 

“Goodnight, Severus,” You said softly, moments later, when Severus went to dim the little light that survived in his office. 

 

He straightened, his back to you again, and said, “Goodnight, (Y/n).” 

 

The next morning, when Severus saw you from outside your window, racing in the glittering snow to embrace your lover, there was a pang in his chest he knew was most certainly not meant to be there.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote most of this longhand and switched it up a little when I wrote it down in Scrivener! Praise me!
> 
> And lets all enjoy this incredibly emotional chapter AND NOT THINK ABOUT ALAN RICKMAN OKAY JUST DON'T THAT'S WHAT I DO.
> 
> RIP Alan Rickman, it doesn't make any sense that you are gone. And it never will.


	5. Where The Tears Fell, Where I Left You

The darkness thickened around the both of you. Your hand was shocked by the bitter cold of the tree bark, your gaze locked on Severus.

 

“Please …” You whispered.

 

He closed his eyes, exhaling. “You will not start this foolishness again, (Y/n).”

 

“But, if I could only —”

 

“There is _nothing,_ ” he continued, cutting you off harshly, “that you can do. You will turn around, you will go back home, you _will not_ pretend to believe that the world is not crumbling all around you and you _will not_ assume for one second that I can be swayed on the matter of you following me.”

 

You were still focused on nothing but him; his face was hard, but you could see that he was struggling to keep it so, especially under your pleading face. You removed your left hand from the tree and uncurled the fingers of your right hand, fashioning against Severus’s face. He looked ready to protest you, until he didn’t. Until he submitted to the sensation of your warm hands against his cheek, the indescribable contrast between the awful winter and the warmth of your palm. He closed his eyes again, more out of comfort than exasperation, and you took the opportunity to step closer.

 

“This changes nothing,” he said. “You and your … wicked hand change nothing.”

 

“I know,” You said. “I do not know when you closed yourself off to me, however. _Me,_ Sev?”

 

“There is always a reason to do it,” he said. “Always. In fact, I should have done it the moment I began to feel … an affiliation with you growing. I should have nipped it in the bud then, when I had nothing to lose … It is too dangerous, (Y/n). I want to continue on knowing I do not have to worry about you. You meant nothing to the Dark Lord, and there is no safer position.”

 

“I know,” and you did. In your heart of hearts, you did. But you wish you didn’t. You wish you were foolish or ignorant enough to believe you could remain. “Kiss me, Sev.”

 

Severus tilted his head, eyes narrowing. “What?”

 

“Kiss me,” You repeated, taking a step closer. Your chest was nearly touching his. “You’ve done it before. Do it again. Please, Severus. Or will this get me killed as well?”

 

And from the depths of his agony, the ghost of a smirk. “I like to think that my talents are so that —”

 

“ _Kiss. Me._ ”

 

You did not need to ask again; Severus leaned, his hand smoothing to the center of your back to hold you. His other hand busying itself with caressing your forearm.

 

Your hand went to his head, the silky oils that mingled with his black locks sliding against your fingers.

 

You were not fooled; this was no simple kiss.

 

Not with the way he held you; close — _too close, far too close,_ not with the way he let you sway in his arms, not with the way the kiss had deepened, until there could hardly be a difference between you and him, not with the way his tongue invited itself into your mouth, busying itself with every inch and angle and dip and crevice.

 

This were not comparable to the chaste, almost guilty pecks you had received before, and even when they had stopped being so guilty, and had even became somewhat warm, still …

 

No. This was different, and when he let you go, he said, “You will leave, (Y/n). Now.”

 

He said this all very softly, but firmly, and he released his final, lingering grip on you and began to back away.

 

“Do as I say,” he said, still just as softly as before. Almost lovingly. The hardened black of his eyes still could not conceal the yearning that was there.

 

You didn’t want to — _no, no, **no**_ — not after that, of course. Because you loved him. Somehow, someway, it had become love, had become worthy of the title love. Your legs screamed for you to stay, any sort of movement becoming painful, foreign. But you did turn. And you did begin to walk. And the tears that had stung your eyes did fall into the dry, dying leaves of fall, where you had left Severus.

 

And because … because …

 

That was no ordinary kiss.

 

It was a goodbye.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I SAID THE THING DID YOU SEE THE 'A' WORD WAS USED.
> 
> I like to imagine this is just before Voldemort kills Snape for the Elder Wand, and my only defense is that I do not remember exactly where Snape was before then -- was he with Voldy before? This whole oneshot sprung from my lack of memory of where Snape was before Voldy killed him. Reader finds him just about to return to Voldemort's side and delays the inevitable.


	6. Blood, Assumptions, and Silliness

“What is _this?_ ”

 

Severus said this after an long, awkward pause and an agonized gulp, before setting his glass down on the table.

 

You perked up — you would have thought the pause would’ve given you time to think of something to say. “It’s … blood, isn’t it? Oh gods, please don’t tell me you’re dietetic.”

 

“I do not drink dietetic blood,” Severus said, slowly coming out of his astonished daze. “I do not drink blood. I am not a _vampire,_ (Y/n).”

 

Your fork was suspended, threads of pasta falling back on the plate. “I — we — I — You’re not?”

 

“No. I am not.”

 

“But —” Your eyes darted, looking around, almost as though someone would leap from the shadows and explain your predicament. “I — I thought you were.”

 

“You —” Severus said, or, at least, attempted to, but your stupidity had obviously astounded him into stammers. “How could you — for all the — you are a _silly_ woman, do you know that, Miss (L/n)? A _silly_ woman. Who on earth would serve blood to someone without being absolutely sure of themselves?”

 

You were ready to bury your face in your hands; oh, if you didn’t wish you had gotten someone to cook tonight _before._ At least then you would have someone to blame. But no, it had been you who had given Severus the note, after weeks of backtracking, anxieties, and _maybe-you-shouldn’ts you-might-just-annoy-hims._ And it had only been some sort of miracle that he had accepted your wild proposal, if nothing but to receive a free meal. The Yule Ball was approaching and the more excited the student body of Hogwarts became, the more agitated and tired Severus (along with the rest of the administration) seemed to be.

 

In an amusing turn of events, Severus buried his head in one hand, the little bit of his face you could make out from the flickering candles wore an expression of absolute exasperation.

 

“Severus,” You said, desperate to climb out of this moment. “I’m so — forgive me, it’s just … the robes, and the — the hair and — and you looked so much like a bat sometimes that I just assumed —”

That caused Severus to raise his head, an eyebrow peaked high. “You think I look _bat-like?_ ”

 

You didn’t speak; what was the right thing to say? _Oh gods, what was the right thing to say?_

 

And then a laugh, dry and expectant, from Severus. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d assume that you were one of my students, Miss (L/n). Absolutely ridiculous, with a penchant for schemes such as this.”

 

“It wasn’t a scheme!”

 

Severus ignored you, shaking his head, and … and was that … a smile? Tiny, almost impossible to work out in the romantic candlelight, but your eyes did not deceive you, you were positive of it. A smile. “Take this away. _Please,_ (Y/n), some wine, if you wouldn’t mind.”

 

You blinked furiously. “Wha — You intend on staying?”

 

“Yes,” Severus said, clearly taking delight in your bemusement. “And since you were _so_ adamant on your vampire theory, you can take this garlic away as well,” he picked up the shaker of garlic and placed it closer to you. “I don’t much care for garlic these days.”

 

Ecstatic with your luck, you took both the glass of blood and garlic away, and as you hurried away into the kitchen, nearly tripping on yourself, you did not catch Severs watching you go, shaking his head again.

 

“Just silly …” he muttered.

 

Silly, indeed. And … something else that Severus thought he did not dare and entertain.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So yeah this idea came to me at like 4 am and I started thinking about them ol' Snape's-a-vampire theories and then I thought of a chapter where Snape and Reader go to dinner and then this happened and yeah this is most likely why no one talks to me.
> 
> I'm SO happy to be writing some funny chapters again -- because they'll be coming from now on now. We'll all be getting a nice break from the melancholy turn this series had taken! 
> 
> Along with, I'm sure, so more angsty Sirius/Reader things ... I'm incorrigible, I really am.


	7. Flirting

“Well … _hello._ ”

 

Cold fury rose in Severus’s stomach as Gilderoy Lockhart went right from him to you, taking your hand, placing it to his lips and offering it a soft kiss.

 

You cleared your throat. “Oh, er — hello, Mr. Lockhart.”

 

"If I had known a creature as astounding as you called Hogwarts your home," Lockhart began, voice like honey, "I would have arrived _much_ sooner ..."

 

Severus glared, not quite understanding why. _It is because Lockhart is an idiot,_ he told himself. Which, he imagined, was always a very good reason to glare.

 

You blushed, fidgeting under Lockhart’s flirtatious attention. You dared to glance at Severus, who was narrowing his eyes at Lockhart’s adventurous thump, currently smoothing circles over the back of your hand.

 

“Of — oh, um — er, hello, Professor Lockhart, wonderful to see you.”

 

Severus shot you a glance as the word _wonderful_ fell from your lips. He mouthed the word back to you with incredulity.

 

_Wonderful. Really, are you **sure?**_

 

"As I'm sure. But I assure you, any joy you feel pales in comparison to mine, Miss (L/n)."

 

Lockhart was practically purring. A cat in yearning. Severus felt himself seething.

 

 _He’s an idiot, is all it is_ , he told himself. _That’s a perfectly good reason to —_

 

"Perhaps we should discuss our joy somewhere more isolated, my dear,” said Lockhart. “I’m sure old Professor Snape here would be just fine to be away from your company for a while —”

 

"Professor Lockhart," Severus snapped. “Your students will be expecting you, perhaps you should not keep them waiting."

 

"Yes," Lockhart said, dispirited. "I’m sure the students are pained with my absence. Positive, actually. But I'm sure they can wait while I converse with Miss _(L/n)_ —"

 

" _Then,_ ” the retort came before Severus could stop it, “perhaps you should find something else to do other than harassing the female staff of Hogwarts, Professor? Surely, Dumbledore’s intentions for offering you the job of Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher had nothing to do with _this?_ ”

 

Lockhart stammered, mouth opening. Severus glanced at you and his pleasure grew; you were concealing something of a smile yourself as you took the opportunity to reclaim your hand.

 

“We will take our leave now, Lockhart, if you’ll excuse us,” Severus said as Lockhart continued to gape at the air, and was even more delighted when he saw you were cooperating with him, turning in his direction. “It is lovely that you at least agree with me on this issue, if only subconsciously.”

 

“You,” You began, moments later, “are capable of being a truly _delicious_ kind of awful, Professor Snape.”

 

“Only for you, Miss (L/n),” he said. “Only for you …”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not entirely satisfied with this one ... maybe because I find difficulty in imagining Lockhart attracted in anyone besides himself, but there you go. Annoying Lockhart being annoying!


	8. For A Dance

“… You are joking. Tell me you are joking.”   
  
“I’m not.”  
  
“You’re … serious?”   
  
“As a heart attack, Snape.”  
  
The surname came out awkwardly in your mouth; you longed to be able to call the man in front of you by his given name without drawing attention to yourself.   
  
Severus.   
  
Your hand was still outstretched and still empty.   
  
Severus eyed it with suspicion. “Me? Why on earth would you choose me as your partner?”   
  
“No one has claimed you —”   
  
“For reasons that would be blatantly obvious to less strange company,” Severus interrupted, then raising his head to you. “You are a very odd woman.”   
  
He was a foot taller than you, and the gaze stuck. You raised your eyebrows. “Is that a bad thing?”  
  
Severus seemed to have no answer for that, his eyes narrowing. “It would not be a long one, you understand?”  
  
“Yes.”  
  
“I have other duties that have nothing to do with this ridiculous night.”  
  
“Absolutely, Se — Snape, I have no interest in stealing any more time away from you than necessary.”  
  
Severus snorted, as though he found this unlikely, and then took your hand — in a fashion that was startlingly gentle — and led you to the dance floor. Most of the students had cleared away, and those that hadn’t gaped at the scene of their Potions professor taken by a lady.   
  
His hold on you was awkward, and you suppressed a chuckle out of fear of a misunderstanding. The closeness — you could smell the dry leaves and the spice on his robes, clung to him from hours of study and experimentation with his ingredients. Earthy and homely, like the smell of books usually kept snug.  
  
Severus’s hand secured itself against your waist, and your breath sucked in at the pressure of it, gently pressing you farther into him.   
  
“What is it?” he said softly. “What have I done?”   
  
Your hand came to rest on his chest. “N — Nothing …”  
  
“Do not lie to me.”  
  
“I’m not,” You assured, with a smile for good measure. “I swear it, I was just … surprised by your hand, is all.”  
  
Severus tilted his head ever so slightly, eyes narrowed again and focused on you. “Very well.”  
  
The moments ticked by. You relaxed into Severus’s touch and he seemed to do the same, his hold on you becoming much more natural. You sighed soundlessly at the lovely sway. Hagrid and Madame Maxine danced by, seeming just as content and uninterested in the rest of the world.   
  
You could feel the snowflakes falling into your hair, against your naked, strapless shoulders, and you pretended that the two of you were elsewhere. It was surprisingly easy; the music was so soft now, becoming something of a lullaby.   
  
“You look nice,” Severus muttered into your ear.  
  
This time, you did chuckle. “As do you.”  
  
You waited for the sarcastic comment that seemed almost prophecy, but …  
  
“You think so?”  
  
You hummed a reply, your hand pressed against Severus’s back.   
  
“I was coerced.”  
  
“Really?”  
  
A second ticked by.   
  
“Albus?”  
  
“Yes.”  
  
You giggled, and Severus loosened his hold on you. You rose your head and saw that he was shaking his.  
  
“Such a silly woman,” he said.   
  
You grinned. “So now I’m silly and odd?”   
  
“You,” Severus began, the curves of his lips teasing into a smirk, “excel at multitasking.”  
  
“I wish I could say the same to you,” You said. “You don’t seem to be able to dance and talk at the same time.”   
  
It was true; the swaying had stopped, and now you the two of you were standing in the middle of the dance floor, white flakes decorating Severus’s hair and the shoulders of your outfits.   
  
“I believe this is subconscious,” Severus said, and began to break away. “I must go. I’ve stayed long enough.”  
  
And you nodded, and of course you weren’t happy about it, a feeling you couldn’t feign as you watched him step away, before slowly turning away and leaving the hall.   
  
You could feel the dents in your robes from where he had touched you, and you closed your eyes, willing his imaginary hands back into place.  
  
V  
  
He stretched his hand, then outstretched it, then stretched again, the feel of you imprinted on his palm.   
  
Foolish, Severus knew it, foolish and distracting …  
  
Why could he not control himself when he was around you? It was unbecoming, it had nothing to do with the mission. His mission.  
  
… This is not about whether he enjoyed it, this is not about his own pleasure. What did you serve? What did you serve to him?   
  
The answer came to his mind and — with irritation mingled with shame — he willed it away immediately.   
  
Of course he knew what you gave him.   
  
He just wished he didn’t want it.


	9. Rubbish, That's Not

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In which the Golden Trio talks about the rumor between you and Snape and Ron accurately describes shipping in any fandom ever since ever.

“You’ve got to be kidding me.”   
  
“I’m not,” said Hermione Granger. “It’s what’s being said. A shame, really. People ought to find something else to do besides —”  
  
“(L/n) would never go for Snape!” said Ronald Weasley. “It’s a shame people at Hogwarts are this mental.”   
  
“First Filch and Pince, now Snape and (L/n)?” said the Boy Who Lived himself, Harry James Potter.  
  
He and his friends were headed to the dining hall for a bit of lunch when Hermione threw down the gauntlet with the newest slab of Hogwarts gossip.   
  
Professor Snape and you were, apparently, in love.   
  
“She’s way too young for him —” Ron tried to argue.   
  
“Snape’s not that old!” cried Hermione.   
  
“Well, he sure does look it,” Ron grumbled, books close to his chest. “He’s slightly less of a git when she’s around, I’ll give them that.”  
  
“Yeah, but not completely gitless,” Harry interjected.   
  
“I said slightly, didn’t I?” Ron said. “Anyway, it’s right rubbish, is what it is. People around here will put a rock and leaf together if they find them in the same park together.”  
  
Ron continued to grumble on their way to the hall, and when they arrived Hermione’s head went up immediately, and she squealed.   
  
“Look!” she said. “ _Look!_ ”  
  
They obliged her and rose their heads to where the remainder of Hogwarts’ faculty was sitting for the evening, and there they could see their Potions master, his head slightly tilted the side as he listened to the woman who sat beside him, blabbering on about something they couldn’t hope to know.  
  
“They’re sitting together — _again._ How do you explain that?”   
  
“Oh, of course,” Ron said as they found their place among their fellow Gryffndors. “The ever romantic sitting-togetherness. How could I be so blind.”  
  
“You know he usually sits at the end where no one will talk to him,” Hermione argued. “You know this is _odd,_ Ron.”  
  
“All right, all right,” Ron submitted. “It’s odd, there, happy?”  
  
“Very much.”  
  
Harry took his own time to look back at Snape and Professor (L/n), and found himself agreeing entirely with Hermione; it wasn’t normal of Snape to prefer anyone’s company. But then again, maybe people were looking too much into it? They looked too much into his own life, he ought to know what it felt like.  
  
But then something happened that changed his perception entirely, and it was this —  
  
You pulled away from him, looking awfully stressed. Harry watched as you let out a breath, eyes focusing intently on your plate. Snape had, apparently, given you some news that was not entirely positive.  
  
While you stared into space, Snape’s attention was on you, taking in your troubled form, and Harry was sure that any moment he would give you a curt word of advice and return to his lunch, until …  
  
His hand — from what Harry could see, and he was narrowing his eyes to make sure — flexed, as though he had received some sort of shock. Snape worked his jaw, turning away from you at last, battling some sort of mental conflict. And then, closing his eyes, his hand came to yours, and he squeezed it reassuringly.   
  
“Guys,” Harry said with astonishment. “Look!”  
  
They did, and their reactions were Harry’s turned verbal; Hermione let out a gasp, her hand flying to her mouth; Ron dropped his fork in his potatoes.   
  
You were looking over Snape, before taking your hand not being held and placed it over Snape’s. This was too much, apparently; much too personal for a public setting; Snape pulled back, his hand snaking away from yours before turning away entirely, gazing elsewhere.   
  
You nodded, understanding his mannerisms, and returned to your meal, struggling to recapture some normalcy.   
  
Silence, until —  
  
“He _likes_ her!” Ron blurted. “She likes _him!_ I don’t know what you’re on, Hermione, they fancy each other for sure —”  
  
“What? I’ve been saying that all day —!”  
  
Harry tuned them out. Though, now, he had to agree with Ron; why would you like someone like Professor Snape?   
  
It really was a shame how little they — _he_ — knew. He was simply too young to know how much of a shame it truly was.


	10. Almost Wife

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's no reason for you not to be his wife; you are already. You start to see that.  
> So does Snape.
> 
> 1.1 of Almost Wife, 1.2 soon to come~

You were an … almost-wife. You did all the things one would expect from a wife, however much you knew Severus had expected you to relent, leave him to his misery (”As you should, (Y/n).”)  
  
But the war had ended, and he was no longer a Dead Man Walking, and was — and it was apparent to you — running out of excuses as to why wedding him would be so awful. There was simply no longer a reason to withhold marriage, and you could tell the decision was running around in his head.   
  
Once, of course, once, it would have been near lunacy (”Marry you, just to make you a widow? Or a corpse? (Y/n), don’t be silly.”), but now, with only peaceful days ahead …   
  
You pushed it to the back of your head.   
  
Well, you’d just have to wait and see, now, wouldn’t you?

V  
  
A brisk morning in August. Spring’s hand held the South side of England in a vice, and only gripping firmer with each day. Toasty, but still comfortable. The inner workings of your life with Severus continued on as normal; Flutters flew in a ring around your head, just as galvanized by spring as the rest of the world at the moment.   
  
You could hear, from not too far away, the sound of Severus's feet against the wooden floor, back and forth, closer and then farther away. You hadn't the slightest idea of what he was on to, but you had grown accustomed to ... well .. You called them _eccentricities,_ that came along with living with Sev.   
  
And so, you paid it no mind and went back to your tea, flipping a page in the Daily Prophet.   
  
"Oh no ... Sev!" You said, and at your words the footsteps nearby grew louder before Sev appeared in the doorway behind you.   
  
"What? What is it? If it's that infernal Skeeter woman, I don't want to hear it -"   
  
"No, you know I wouldn't call you for that," You waved off, then gestured for him to come closer. "Look! Umbridge's been arrested."   
  
You smiled as Sev's eyebrows rose in interest, then his lips lifted in a smirk. "Oh, _really?_ "   
  
"By oh _no,_ I really meant oh, _yes._ Oh," You collapsed into giggles, "Sev, her mugshot is awful!"  
  
He took the Prophet from your hands and read himself. When he finished he set it down slowly on the kitchen table, his smirk growing nastier still. "Well, there must be a celebration."   
  
You were still fighting giggles. "What did you have in mind?"   
  
His smirk lessened then, his face growing all around more solemn. “(Y/n) … I …”  
  
You watched as Sev fought words he seemed to want to say, then he grunted hard, leaving the room.   
  
You blinked.

 _Okay …?_   
  
A second or so later, he came back. Then went again, just as disgruntled. Then returned.   
  
“Sev, you’re going to give yourself motion sickness!” You said, standing. Even Flutters had settled down, now watching his papa make a spectacle of himself. “Just tell me what you need to say!”  
  
“Sit down!” Sev said, and when you did, he went away again.   
  
You waited. Then, suddenly, panic spiked in your stomach. What if it was bad news? Oh … _gods,_ what was it now? Why was it always something? Why —  
  
Sev returned, and all your worries quieted.   
  
He remained there, in the threshold for a second or two, before rushing over to the table and smacking something on the wood. You startled as he went away for what you realized would be the last time. You watched him disappear through the door and when another one shut closed you knew you had been correct.   
  
You looked down, then, at what he had put on the table.   
  
You could hardly register what you saw.   
  
You blinked, hoping it would rouse you out of this fugue … then your heart leaped.   
  
A ring. A thin band with a perfect, tiny diamond. Beautiful, innocent in its simplicity.   
  
You slowly reached for it, not truly believing your eyes. You almost fought the idea of touching it, in fear it would simply shimmer away, like a teasing mirage. But your fingers came around it, and you lifted it, placing it in your palm. You gave a amazed sigh, and stood up, grasping it softly. Flutters did nothing to follow, only giving a soft hoot and keeping put.  
  
The door to Sev’s office was shut, and all inside was silent. You opened the door, delighted to find it unlocked, and went in.  
  
His chair was turned to the window, and his arm laid against the desk. “Go on,” he said after seconds. “Go on, then, say it.”  
  
“Say what, Sev?”   
  
“Say no,” Sev clarified, voice soft. “Say no, you’ve reconsidered some things. No, you’d rather not. No, you need time or whatever it is that people always say. I can hear the gears in your head working now, trying to configure some insipid excuse, so don’t leave me in anticipation. _Go on._ ”   
  
You blinked furiously, your mouth working to produce words yet gathering none.   
  
You jumped when he swiveled his chair, his expression hard on you. He rose slowly.   
  
“You are a cruel woman,” he said. “Just get on with it.”  
  
He came around to you. You could see the sadness mingling with the disappointment, and the disappointment with the anger, all at the linger of your pause, and fought to keep from drowning in the dark of his eyes.   
  
He sneered, but there was no heart in it. “Why can’t you —”   
  
You stepped forward, no longer fighting his gaze. Severus’s sneer faltered, the ends of his lips relaxing as your hand came to his neck, then to the back of it, pressing into the nape of it and pulling him ever forward. His movements were stiff, hesitant and unsure, but yours were not.   
  
You brought him into a kiss, surrounding him; your hands came to rest in his hair, the black, beautiful locks that he used to never clean. You felt his hands slip over your shoulders, before slowly coming to entrap you in an embrace.   
  
His lips parted for just a second to breath out, “Forgive me …”   
  
Your reply was bringing your lips back over his own, cupping his face tenderly.   
  
Severus succumbed until he couldn’t anymore, parting from you. His hands held your own face now, eyes suspiciously watery.   
  
“I am …” he trailed, lowering his gaze. “I do not know what I can promise, (Y/n). So much of the future - of _your_ future - that I cannot insure.”  
  
“Yes.”  
  
He looked back at you, looking inquiring until he didn’t have to; his expression became knowing, and a small, almost frightened smile.   
  
“It’s … it’s decided then?”   
  
“It is decided,” You said, flicking Severus’s chin with your finger. “Been decided for quite some time now, to be entirely honest …”  
  
“I am sorry,” he said. “I should have .. suggested this earlier.”   
  
You rolled your eyes. “Can we stop apologizing?”   
  
“You have not apologized.”  
  
You rose on your tiptoes again, your finger placing a strand of hair behind Severus’s ear before brushing your lips against its shell. “Not the point …” you whispered.   
  
You pulled back, and his eyes narrowed.   
  
His lips curved into a smirk.  
  
Ah, so now he understood the point.


	11. Things Made Of Fate

Knock, knock, knock.

 

Snape turned his head to the door with utter disbelief; No, there couldn’t possibly be more required of him tonight. His arm still stung with the incantation that had been placed there by Bellatrix and, even though he knew he was completely alone, the knock at his door had made him cover it with his sleeve as though it would be seen regardless.

 

He narrowed his eyes at the other side of the room, where his bookshelves rose high and untouched, where Wormtail most likely lie, waiting to eavesdrop. He rose from his chair and approached. He yanked his wand from his robes and murmured an incantation, and with a sharp, loud bang the hidden door appeared and Wormtail tried to scuttle —

 

“Hold it!” Snape hissed, yanking Wormtail by the shoulder.

 

“I — I wasn’t —!”

 

But, apparently, Snape required nothing but his glare to convey his feelings to Wormtail.

 

And the rest of the threat hung in the air, amongst Wormtail’s scared whimpering. Snape released him and watched as Wormtail hurried down the stairs, nearly tripping several times in his descent.

 

Snape stepped away and returned the bookshelves to normal before approaching the door. He held the knob with his hand as another set of knocks rang out. He closed his eyes, and with the sting that resulted helped him to understand just how tired he really was.

 

It couldn’t be Narcissa, or Bellatrix; they had gotten what they’d come for. But if not them, who?

 

He twisted the knob and pulled, opening his eyes.

 

There … there you were; you rose your head at the door’s opening, your eyes searching his face.

 

Your pink lips parted. "Snape," You murmured.

 

His eyes went wide with recognition. "Miss (L/n) …"

 

“I only want to talk,” You said softly, clearly fearful of his answer.

 

Snape’s astonishment waned. He settled into his typical sourness. “A simple request,” he said, “but I do not believe I can accept it.”

 

“Please, Snape.”

 

“I cannot entertain you.”

 

“It’ll only be for a second. Please.”

 

“Can it not wait?”

 

The look you gave him was answer enough that it, indeed, could not wait. Snape squeezed the space between his temples, stepping aside for you to enter.

 

“I cannot do with more visitors …” he murmured under his breath.

 

But even so, he could not pretend like it was not good to see you, especially since fate seemed adamant to write his death in the stars one way or another. He watched you enter his house, tuck a strand of hair behind your head, dart your eyes from one side to the other, as though the words you wanted to say would be written on the air and you could read them.

 

They finally caught on to the wine bottle and set of glasses placed on the rickety table.

 

"You've had visitors already?" You asked.

 

"Is that your business?" Snape retorted.

 

"No, but —"

 

"Miss (L/n)," Snape said exasperatedly, beginning to approach you, "I have no time for this. Please, tell me what you want from me and then be on your way.”

 

This seemed to solidify your resolve, because you straightened yourself. "Right then … Snape, we’ve … known each other for quite some time”

 

“Yes?”

 

“As a part of the staff, as teachers and — and colleagues, and I … I feel like we have come to a time in our — our knowing each other that — that —”

 

“ _Miss (L/n)_ —”

 

“Do you have feelings for me?” You blurted out loudly.

 

The words forced Snape back a step. He did a double-take, afraid that he had misheard you. "… Pardon?”

 

“Because —” You were still rambling, gaze lowered, “because I _certainly_ have feelings for you, and I don’t know _where_ they came from or how long I’ve had them but … I was lying in bed and I realized that I’d rather think of you than anything else in the world and that doesn’t make any _sense_ but — but it’s the truth and —”

 

“Enough!” Snape shouted above you.

 

You looked up at him immediately, and now it was his turn to look away, appearing shaken, understandably, by your confession.

 

“I —” he said, facing the wall. “I … cannot deal with this. Not now, Miss (L/n), you continue to have such impeccably bad timing for _everything_.”

 

“Snape, I —”

 

“You must leave,” Snape said suddenly. “Leave my home.”

 

You stood there, silent, and then you began to shake your head slowly. “I’m not going anywhere.”

 

“Miss (L/n)!”

 

“Not until you answer me honestly!”

 

Snape groaned. What did it matter? How could you not see how utterly _absurd_ your question was? When had he ever given you the impression, the inkling, that he was interested in a romance? That he desired anything of the sort?

 

… Snape reflected, with even more frustration, that perhaps his small relapses of resolve were the cause; he would talk to you seconds too long, stare too softly. Oh, gods, he should have known. He should have prevented this.

 

If he failed at this simple task, what of the Dark Lord? How long would he hold out there?

 

Snape looked at you again. So young, so sweet and in yearning for his reply. He wished that he could allow himself the pleasure and freedom of confessing that he, too, felt … something. How strong, how tangible, he knew not.

 

But, another side of him (the side that would keep him alive, he reasoned) understood that therein lied the problem.

 

Snape called on the inner armor that he possessed, and his expression hardened upon you.

 

“You are a silly girl, as I’ve told you many times,” he said, walking slowly toward you, hoping that it would cause you to shrink, that his presence would frighten you, as it did so many others. “But I see now that was too weak of an adjective. Stupid, foolish, would be more fitting.”

 

“You’re lying,” You said, but there were tears settling in your eyes, nearing the edges of your lids. “You’re lying, and you know it, and I’m not going anywhere until you talk to me like an **_adult_ ** —”

 

“I would think of doing nothing else.”

 

“Lies,” You said, but your voice was cracking horribly as you took one last step closer.

 

It was then that he realized how close you truly were; the tip of your shoes touched his, the ends of his robes were tickling your forearms.

 

You noticed it, too, looking down to observe the proximity before returning your gaze to Snape’s face.

 

Second, then another, then another, just like that. You looked into his eyes, glossy — _beautiful_ , he tried to fight the urge to refer to them as such and failed — eyes darting from one to the other. He knew that his own were horrible and dark, but no one would know that by seeing you, no, they would think you were looking at someone wonderful, someone handsome and deserving.

 

Someone not him.

 

“Do it,” You said with your lips barely parted, so softly and with such fragility, that he might not have heard you at all but simple imagined it. “Do what you want to do. S — Severus …”

 

He should have been incensed by you using his given name, that should have been the breaking point in which he’d throw you out of the house whether you liked it or not, but it did nothing but soften him even further.

 

Thank the gods you did not call him Sev. He surely wouldn’t have made it.

 

“That is not possible … (Y/n),” he said miserably. “Nothing of the sort is possible.”

 

“Do it anyway.”

 

Do it anyway, how childish.

 

And then, amazingly, you rolled your eyes, some dry, sickly dry humor conjuring itself in your voice as you said, “Do I have to do everything for you?”

 

You gripped his shoulders, forcing yourself across the very last inches that separated the pair of you, and pressed your lips to his.

 

He could taste the cold on your lips, slowly evaporating from the soft, warm pants you gave against his lips. His two inner voices went to war as his hands flinched closer and farther, closer and farther, not knowing what to do — knowing what to do, and not wanting to do it.

 

Your hands held his face, pulling him even closer. Your leg hit something — most likely the table — and it forced Snape to reach up and grip your head, helping you to balance, allowing him to cheat and touch you and participate in the kiss that he had no place participating in.

 

That hand moved to your waist. His lips hadn’t quite come to life as yours were against his, the constraints against his judgment far too tight, unable to rival your passion as you smoothed your lips against him, leaving small, soft pecks against his lower lip and chin. Snape let out a soft pant of his own as your teeth gave him a soft nip, tasting one of the salty fragments of your tears as it fell against your lip and against his own.

 

“Severus …”

 

So … Your voice was like a warm blanket over his heart, providing momentary comfort against a wild blizzard that would eventually take him.

 

Too long. He had let this carry out too long. He … Snape ripped himself from you, snatching your hands from his face, hand from your waist, leaving you to find your balance and recover your senses as he moved to the farthest side of the room, where his books sat stacked one by one on his shelves.

 

He leaned against the shelves, the responsibilities he bore weighing him down, surely, and stayed like that in silence. He struggled to catch his breath, to not look back at you and return for more.

 

You did not need to be silenced, or told anymore. You fixed yourself (he could hear the soft shuffling of your robes) and then the long, drawn out creak of the door opening and closing.

 

Snape looked up at his hand, pulled it away, and saw that cobwebs came with him.

 

He wiped them away, straightening himself, before turning at last and saw that you were nowhere. Snape closed his eyes for a second and opened them, in some way hoping you would appear when he did.

 

Either that, or that, somehow, someway, the last couple of minutes would be forfeit, and he would not have to taste your tears in his mouth any longer.

 

V

 

You kept your hand closed over your mouth as you walked out into the night. Your heart was wild against your rib-cage, and the tears — tears from _everything_ — froze cold against your cheeks.

 

You could taste him still. Snape, and yourself, and there was hardly a difference anymore.

 

Why could you still taste him?

 

This would go nowhere, to nothing, and you knew that, and you had still …

 

Or perhaps you had just wanted to know what it would be like to …

 

Whatever the case. Severus — Snape, you reminded yourself, _Snape_ — had been right; you were a foolish girl.

 

You made it to a streetlight and you, understanding that you were completely alone and no pretense was required of you, Apparated away from Spinner’s End.

 

You were foolish, and it would be a long, cold night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A really sad chapter, bur I'm so proud of it! Whenever angst is involved it seems like my prose levels go up tenfold. 
> 
> I really hope you enjoyed! Smut next time, and much happier!


	12. Almost Wife 1.2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The big one. Sorry for the wait, bouts of the lazy and not freakin' knowing what to do next.

Licking his lips, Severus leaned in and kissed you.

Your heart sped as his hands came over you; your hands went to his neck, pulling him closer, deepening an already suffocating contact.

And it was no hyperbole; you could hardly take a breath through your mouth as Severus’s lips possessed your own. Your arms came all the way around, strands of his raven hair tickled the skin of your forearms and your hands clenched hard, fisting at the fabric covering his shoulders.

He pressed you against the door, his hands roaming your sides. “I …” he began, having to practically rip from you with each following word, “do not … want … not in the office, (Y/n) …”

He released you, and you looked up at him. You took a look around the office and understood; the two of you never did it here — too many bad memories. It hadn't been here, but at Hogwarts. It had been late and he — the _two_ of you — had been far, far too careless and it was something Sev had not quite forgiven himself for — what danger he had put the two of you in.

You nodded, and he moved away from you so you could open the door. You hurried out of Sev’s office, him surely right behind you, and raced up the stairs, unbuttoning some of your buttons along the way.

The door thrust open and it was not by your hand; handless magic and on Sev’s behalf. You spun once you met the edge of the bed and Sev came to you, forcing you to lose your balance and fall against the mattress with a floaty sigh.

Above you, Sev began to remove his robes. They spread around him like mighty bat wings, and old rumors of his vamprism came to your mind, causing you to giggle.

He paused when you did so. “And just _what_ is so funny?”

“Nothing, my love,” You said, body rippling still with the vibration of giggles. “Just … you are _such_ a vamp.”

You could see that he understood exactly what you meant, and rolled his eyes, coming to be on top of you.

Still disgustingly clothed but wanting more than anything to touch you, Sev’s head dipped into the crook of your neck, attaching his lips to the sensitive skin of that lay there. He gave an artful suck and you felt his smirk against your flesh when you arched into him.

“Yep, yep — _ah_ — _definitely_ vampire,” You joked underneath your breath.

Sev came back up to look at you. “You are ridiculous,” he said, taking your hand and pressing it to his chest. “And you are moving far too slowly.”

“Right,” You said, fingers dancing against the silver of his buttons. “Sorry.”

You made up for your insolence well for the next couple of seconds; you began to work Sev out of his regular garments while his attention remained entirely on tormenting you the entire way with his lips and tongue.

He yanked his arms out of his sleeves, slinking out of the rest of his shirt like a snake desperate to shed its skin (you were glad you didn’t make that joke; you’d probably be a puddle by now if you did).

You could feel and see the bright pale of his skin, the ripe bone that lay underneath his flesh, modulating as he rocked gently into you. Your hand slipped downward, disappearing into his trousers —

“Argh …” he grunted against your reddening neck. He brushed his lips against your cheek. “Nymph …”

You giggled, and when you move your other hand to slide against Sev’s back your wedding ring twinkled back at you, catching on to the little stream of light that was being let in by small slips in the curtains. You felt warm and the realness of where you were — Severus Snape, above you, having his way, your hand grasping his cock — hit you like a ton of bricks.

He was _yours_. Truly. After all this time.

You flicked at the head of Sev’s cock with your hands until —

“That’s **_it_** ,” Sev growled, lifting away from you. “You will pay for all of this teasing, (Y/n).”

He yanked you on top of you and your hands found his chest to stabilize yourself.

“Finish what you started,” Sev ordered, wiggling out of his trousers.

You moved downward to help him out of the rest, allowing them to pool to the floor without a second thought. Sev’s cock stuck out at you, tall and only seconds away from being fully hardened.

Your eyes flickered up at him and, with a smirk, you let your tongue flick at his head.

He glared — thankfully, you had been around him for long enough to know the difference between a real Severus Snape glare and a false one.

“Do what I asked of you, (Y/n),” he warned.

You smiled, encasing the tip of Sev’s cock around your lips. You felt him groan softly at the contact. Your hand came to grasp his length, gently jerking him as your tongue came to lather his tip.

“Yes, that’s more like it …” he said softly.

You watched as his head turned against the pillow.

You released him from your mouth, smiling softly. “Do you remember when we first did this?”

“Vividly,” Sev answered.

“Really? Hmm, I’m flattered,” You said, before engulfing him in your mouth, slowly sliding up his length before releasing him again.

You watched Sev as he fisted the sheets, eyebrows furrowing. “As you should be …” he said between groans. “You’ve always been … an _immaculate_ partner …”

You sucked against him lovingly, wishing you could smile at the same time; you loved getting him like this, when he was too preoccupied with the pleasure he was receiving from you to maintain his regular snark.

You raked your nails against his skin, gently but prominently, providing that pain-pleasure that you knew Sev loved so much. He tried to restrain himself from arching into the feel of your touch and only mildly succeeded, his stomach flinching when you reached the far sides of his body.

“(Y/n) …”

You felt him lean forward, his hand coming to the back of your head, forcing you to accept more of his length into your mouth. You accepted, gladly, your cheeks hollowing as your sucking intensified.

“(Y/n) …!” Sev’s hand fisted your hair.

You didn’t stop, nor did you slow down at all, though you knew he liked to savor things at times — you were having too much fun, was the problem. Feeling Sev come apart was one of your favorite things in the world.

You cracked an eye open just in time to see Sev throw his head back, his body jerk — fluid soaked your tongue and you grasped on to Sev’s cock, working it for every last drop he had to offer you.

Finally, after a moment or two, you moved away, looking up at him.

His lips were parted, strands of hair clinging to his face. “Do you honestly think,” he began between breaths, “that your performances are things one can easily forget?”

You smiled, raising to your feet. Sev looked you over, eyebrow raised, as though he had forgotten something about you in his pleasure.

Then, he said, “Ahh, where are my manners.”

Suddenly, his hands were on you, working you out of your own garments. You shed out of your blouse. Every single hair you possessed rose at the feel of Sev’s fingers against your near naked skin, working your bra off. He unclasped it and you wiggled away from it, allowing him to let it drop to the floor.

You moved back to the bed, feeling very seen as Sev’s black eyes flickered to your chest.

Very seen, and very … very aroused by being seen; you couldn’t help but feel as though beneath it all, your Sev was a bit of a voyeur, because this wasn’t the first time he had preferred to simply keep back and observe you for a couple of seconds before finally acting, whereas someone else in his possession would be pouncing on you.

You smiled at the thought, and turned a little on your side, your hand dancing to your skirt. You unzipped it, staring straight at Sev while doing so. Your skirt came apart slowly, exposing your legs and the pink of your panties.

Something came alive in Sev’s eyes. He returned to the bed with you, a hand ghosting over yours, moving beyond yours soon to tug gently at your underwear.

You twisted and turned until they came away from you. Sev held them for a second, before letting them fall away as well.

“You are beautiful,” he said, his voice entirely void of its usual snark or drawl.

The words carried to you, soft and warm, like a blanket draped over your heart. You smiled, lowering your gaze.

You felt his fingers on you, ghosting over the skin of your thigh, and you looked up to see where — what — exactly he was preoccupied with.

It was a scar, dark and zigzagged over your skin. Sev traced it with the tips of his fingers, frowning.

Scar. A _war_ scar.

“Sev,” You began, propping yourself on your elbow. “It’s fine. I’m fine. I swear.”

Sev didn’t look up right away, only continued to fixate on your phantom injury.

“Somehow, I cannot bring myself to believe you entirely,” he said.

This was not the first of him seeing your scar and would not be the last time, either. And always this was his reaction. Disgust, disappointment — in himself, not you. For not being nearly quick enough to keep you from pain.

“You know,” You tried softly, “there are other parts of my body that require your attention.”

Sev looked up, eyebrow raised with interest. It took a second, before his lips tugged into a smirk, his hand sneaking lower to cup the entrance of your womanhood.

“I think you’re right,” he said softly, in direct accordance to a soft moan you gave at that moment.

Sev’s other hand suddenly reached around your waist and you responded almost robotically, scooching down the mattress until you were securely in his lap.

You hissed, throwing your head back as two of his fingers squeezed against one another, trapping your clit between them.

You didn't dare look up and see Sev’s face, eyes most likely darting across your form, relishing in how responsive you were to him. His hold on you was absolute, tight but comfortable, with his arm secured around you waist. Your head rested against his chest, and your hair moved against your face as you turned to kiss one of Sev’s nipples.

In his lap, completely under his control. A pet. The thought made you flush, welcoming the hair that obscured your reddening skin.

Sev’s elegant, spidery fingers danced against your labia, two of them joining together, entering you.

You arched into his grasp and he gripped you tighter, kissing your temple as you struggled to writhe in his hold.

“Excellent …” he murmured against your skin, then a soft chuckle. “I will … never tire of this.”

His thumb brushed against your clit, slowly, before beginning to brush it back and forth in near perfect unison with the fingers that were tormenting your entrance — in, out, in, out, around —

“Sev …!” You gasped, tightening your legs together, trapping his fingers against you but doing nothing to halt their ministrations.

If anything, you only strengthened his effect; you could feel fingers much more intensely now, causing your insides to sing. Sev’s lips had captured yours again, all the while another third finger began to slide into you, joining the other two.

So full … and yet, so not full. It became clear to you just how badly you needed him — Severus, needed him inside of you, his cock sinking into your depths and bringing something out of you no other man could —

The thought was too much, Sev was too much. His tongue swirling expertly against yours, his fingers now causing the tightening you felt to rupture. You opened your mouth against his lips to let out a loud mewl as the end came.

Sev’s fingers left you, bringing them to his face. He licked your juices from you as you recovered from your orgasm. You felt as though you were close to another one just watching him; his eyes slowly closed as he sucked, savoring the taste of you.

He licked the remains off of his lips, and then smile smartly at you as though nothing had happened.

“You are a bastard,” You said breathlessly. “Of frightening proportions.”

“I don’t think that’s the way I would speak to someone who made me feel the way I just made you feel,” Sev said with a half-smile. He loosened his grip on you so that you could maneuver as you wished.

You reached for the top of the bed, to the pillows, shivering when you felt Sev’s hands graze your thigh along the way.

“But if you insist on seeing me as the villain,” he said, “I believe I can cope with whatever you …” he looked you up and down, “dish out.”

“On the bed,” You ordered with a smirk, waiting for him.

Sev rolled his eyes, before coming to rest beside you. You smiled at the sight of his raven hair resting gracefully around his face, whereas moments ago it had been an absolute forest around yours. You moved, coming to straddle Sev, your hand guiding his cock to your entrance.

You were waiting for snark that never came, instead, what took its place was:

“You look beautiful, my wife,”

You looked up, eyes wide. It just came out of nowhere. You shook your head. “I never know with you.”

“I like surprising you.”

“I’m not your wife yet,” You reasoned softly.

“You have always been to me.”

Something soft — feather soft — fell around your heart, and you smiled. You looked into his eyes, darker than dark eyes that never relented in their blackness. Something seemed so warm about them as he watched you sink down on to him.

His face contorted at the contact. You tightened around his cock without meaning to, causing him to groan softly, nails digging into your thigh, coincidentally bringing you closer toward him.

Already so wet from prior events, you rocked against him with ease. You placed hands against Sev’s chest, a proper way to steady yourself against him as you began to find a rhythm above him.

The mattress creaked with each motion. Sev’s deep growls propelled you forward, forced you be more aggressive in your pursuit for your pleasure and his. You fell against him, now not so much above him as on top of him, your eyes looking directly into his. Your hands feathered his face, catching the sweat that had collected against his skin on your palm. His hands roamed every inch of you as you rode him before — before forcing you on your side.

You gasped as did so, your head against the pillow as he grasped your thigh and threw your leg around him. Neither of you dominated then, only rocked against each other with wild abandon, the air full of your pants and ecstasy-filled omissions as you did so.

Sev inched farther toward you, and you followed that motion until your lips connected once more. You clung to him desperately, feeling a familiar tightening, rising in your gut. Sev gave a couple more powerful thrusts — so much power it felt as though that air was being forced from your lungs with each blow, that it was pain and pleasure mingling — until you felt your orgasm clouding your senses again. In your screaming fit you felt Sev meet his end as well, shudder against you, before he relaxed into your embrace, his grip on you loosening until his hands simply grazed your flesh.

You blinked water from your eyes, feeling your eyelids growing heavy. You did not expect Sev to say anything — what was there to say, really, and you were right. His gaze was also drowsy but glued to you, and without any words to accompany it.

The sounds of his shallow-turned-normal breathing became your white noise as you allowed your eyes to close. You felt his forehead press against yours, then his hand touch yours, fingers dancing gently across your ring, before they stopped moving, instead his hand simply laying beside yours.

Your consciousness gave way to unconsciousness, the feel of Sev against you seeping into whatever dreams came to you.


End file.
